


if you want them

by viscrael



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Culture, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, set around seasons 1 & 2, theyre at a party and its sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 05:26:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13804368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viscrael/pseuds/viscrael
Summary: “That’s just lazy,” Keith says. “You just chose red because I’m the Red paladin.”“You were chosen to be the Red paladin for a reason!” Lance insists. “It’s fitting!”“All I’m saying is that it’s kind of a cop out.”“Fine, wise guy, if you’re so good at it, why don’t you pick one out for me that isn’t blue!”Keith looks between Lance and the sky as more go off, the explosions echoing as the bursts fall and melt before they reach the ground. A challenge is a challenge. “Fine. I will.”





	if you want them

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this a LONG time ago (like. last summer a long time ago) and never uploaded it bc i intended to write this as a long-ish kind of.. soft commentary on homesickness? i intended to include scenes exploring more abt this kind of space ice cream and the way the flavors work and alien culture that is similar to earth culture and some other kinds of stuff... but then i never finished it and it just sat in my writing folder for a billion years collecting dust. and ive been in kind of a writing dry-spell recently so i decided to just go ahead and upload this as is
> 
> also, since s5 comes out soon, it felt like an appropriate time to post another klance fic lol

“How come you didn’t get any space ice cream?”

Keith looks up to see Lance standing over him, holding a ceramic bowl in one hand and digging into the contents of it with a spoon with the other. Sunlight hits Lance’s back and shades his face, casting him in a purple-blue hue. It might be day right now, but it could be night, too—Keith isn’t sure. This planet’s lighting is always tinted a little purple, perpetually leaving the impression of twilight.

“I don’t think that’s what it’s called,” Keith says.

Lance waves his spoon around in the air and moves to take a seat next to Keith on the ground. The grass rustles underneath him. “It’s ice cream, and we’re in space—ergo, space ice cream. Spacecream?”

Keith snorts and scoots over slightly to make room for Lance. They’re perched on a small hill overlooking the party this planet’s inhabitants threw. It’s not the first celebration for Voltron that the paladins have been to, and it certainly won’t be the last; this seems to be the only way most people know how to thank them for their help. This, money, and the offer of a living space are the only gifts frequently offered to them, with an occasional offer of an alliance if the planet thinks it can risk going against Galran troops.

At first it was sort of interesting going to alien parties, even if Keith doesn’t like parties in general, but it got boring after the first few. It’s the same thing every time: the leaders of the planet discuss plans with Shiro and Allura as the party goes on, while the rest of the paladins wander around eating and talking, shaking hands with the locals when wanted and humoring any expressions of gratitude or attempts at conversation. Eventually, the requirement of talking to strangers overrode his interest in the actual party itself. He’s over it now.

Thank god no one calls him out on how rude it is to leave the parties as early as he does. This time, he’d said hello to a few people, politely declined what might have been food offered to him, and found a place away from everyone else to make his own. From here, he can keep an eye on everyone and everything without being _involved_ in any of it.

Sometimes he stays away from the crowd by himself for the duration of the party. Other times the other paladins seek him out and rest with him. Today, it seems to be Lance who’s decided to keep him company.

“Did you at least try it?” Lance asks, before pushing a spoonful in his mouth. Keith eyes the ceramic bowl in Lance’s lap. It looks like ice cream for sure, although the texture seems a little more...gooey. Before he can even answer, Lance is digging the spoon into the ice cream, pulling out a scoop, and shoving the spoon towards Keith’s face, holding his hand cupped under it to keep anything from dripping onto the ground.

“Absolutely not,” Keith says.

“Aww, c’mon, Keith, just try it,” Lance insists, wiggling the spoon a little more insistently. The scoop jiggles precariously, threatening to spill onto his hand below. “I _promise_ you it’s good. And you don’t know, we may never have another chance to experience space ice cream again! You don’t know what you’re missin’ out on if you turn this down, buddy!”

“You said it’s basically just ice cream. So I do know.”

“Correction: it is _space_ cream. They’re different.”

Keith rolls his eyes and, deciding to humor Lance just this once, leans forward and takes the bite before he can be pestered anymore. With the way Lance is holding the utensil out, Keith had assumed he was going to attempt to feed him, but maybe he’d miscalculated; Lance makes some aborted noise of surprise and almost lets Keith drop the spoon in the process.

He was right, though. It _does_ just taste like slightly gooier ice cream. The largest difference is the flavor, some mixture of liquid silver and mint.

“Tastes weird,” he says when his mouth is no longer full.

Lance, whose cheeks are several shades darker than usual, sticks the spoon back in the bowl. “Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure we’ve had weirder things since being in space. This is, like, super mild compared to some of the stuff Coran makes. At least this is familiar, you know? Kinda like being back at home.”

“I guess so,” Keith agrees. He licks his lips a final time and glances back at the bowl. It’s half-empty, but Lance isn’t eating anymore. He pushes the spoon around in the dish, going in halfhearted circles. Keith nods towards it. “You gonna eat that?”

Lance grins. “Why, you want more? I _told_ you it was good.” He holds the bowl out to Keith, moving the spoon so he can pick it up himself if he wants to. He notices that Lance doesn’t try the feeding thing again, but he doesn’t point it out.

They sit there at the top of the hill in companionable silence, taking turns eating ice cream and watching the festivities below. A group of young-looking Klulum (as Allura identified these aliens as) gather excitedly around Hunk and Pidge, rapidly shooting out questions about Voltron and their adventures, while Shiro, Allura, and Coran stand a good distance away. They seem to be having a pleasant conversation with the leader of this particular civilization. Keith watches them talk, reads Allura’s lips as she says something along the lines of _thank you for your hospitality,_ while next to him, Lance takes the final scoop of his dessert.

It hasn’t always been like this with the two of them. Up until pretty recently, they wouldn’t be able to sit like this together without somehow making it into a competition or an argument or _something;_ the “companionable” part is new, just barely there. Keith can’t say he doesn’t like it, though.

As casually as he can, Keith looks at Lance where he’s sitting next to him. The planet’s lighting makes everything so soft, smoothing out all rough edges and casting an almost sleepy glow across everyone. The blue of Lance’s paladin armor is washed out, his skin a magenta instead of its natural warm brown. When he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobs, and Keith’s eyes are drawn to the bruises on his neck peeking out from his under armor, received after a close run-in with some Galran officer when the team was separated during a mission the other day. Lance had been dangling with his back slammed into a wall when Hunk and Keith found him. Keith thinks about the way he’d slumped to the ground after being released, the way he’d gasped so desperately for breath, and the panic Keith felt when he thought for a second Lance wouldn’t be able to find it. His face had been turning purple, then, too.

At the time, Lance had struggled to his feet but offered Hunk and Keith a characteristic smile. “Close one,” he’d said. “But next time, you think you can get here just, like, a few seconds earlier?”

“We tried,” Keith had snapped. Hunk put a hand on his shoulder, his other on Lance’s back, and asked if the two of them could continue this when they were back on the ship, or at least not in what was _basically_ a Galran den? And Keith had nodded, shoved everything out of his mind, and refocused on the mission. There was no time for worry or for anger then, and by the time they were back on the ship, he’d tried to forget it, to only some avail.

He thinks about it now as he tries to surreptitiously trace the swollen bruises with his eyes. They’ll fade in a few days, Coran assured. A quick run through the healing pods undid most serious damage, but smaller injuries—such as bruises—don’t benefit too much from cryostasis. _Those you’ll just have to wait out_ , he’d said.

Lance sets the spoon back down in the empty bowl before putting the bowl on the ground in front of them, levelled on the hill at just the right angle so it won’t tip over and roll away. The movement brings Keith back to the present, and he snaps his eyes from the other quickly, turning away from the bruises and back to the party below.

“It’s weird,” Lance says.

Keith frowns. “What’s weird?”

“A second ago, that guy bowed to Pidge and Hunk.” He gestures in their direction. “And, man, I get that we’re team Voltron and all, but sometimes it’s weird to be treated like this, you know? Not that it’s a _bad_ thing, it’s just...I remember Pidge getting chewed out by Iverson, and yet we’re out here being treated like heroes. I guess we _are_ heroes, though, so I mean, who can blame ‘em.”

“It’s kind of overwhelming,” Keith agrees, because he knows that’s what Lance is actually getting at. He gets it, some of the time. How frightening it is to be this important. To be this kind of hero. Lance acts sometimes like there are no cons to this lifestyle, like he loves absolutely everything about being a paladin and being a hero and being _here_ , but Keith knows that isn’t true. Far from it.

But if Lance doesn’t want to admit that out loud, Keith isn’t going to make him.

“You’d think I’d be able to land more dates being a paladin of Voltron,” Lance mumbles, his eyes trained on Hunk and Pidge where they’re still talking to the same group of Klulum. Pidge looks like she’s ready to retire to bed, while Hunk seems to be in a deep discussion with one of them. Lance glances at Keith. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to remind me about Nyma and whatever, I learned my lesson.”

“Good to hear you won’t be taking anymore strangers out in Blue.”

“Yeah, yeah. You know you’d want to ride with her if you could.”

“I’ve got Red.”

“True, but then you wouldn’t get to ride with _me,_ and that’s half the fun.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Rude.”

Keith’s lips turn up in a small grin. For a second, neither of them says anything. Then Lance elbows Keith in the side gently, enough to get his attention but not enough to hurt.

“But hey,” he says, “you’re not a stranger.”

“…Yes?”

“No, I mean, like,” Lance waves his hand around as he talks, “you said it’s good I won’t be taking anymore strangers out in Blue. But you’re not a stranger, so if you went for a ride with Blue…”

“I can’t tell if you’re serious about going out in Blue right now or not,” Keith says.

Lance shrugs. “Me neither? It was just a thought. For what it’s worth, I think she likes you. Whenever I’m talking to her about everyone, she asks about you first.” He grins. “Don’t get why though.”

“Shut up.”

Lance laughs, and Keith looks back at the party. Next to Hunk, Pidge yawns widely, covering her mouth with her hand. Hunk notices and turns to ask her something, possibly if she’s ready to head in. From his spot on the hill, Keith follows Pidge’s example and yawns involuntarily.

“You tired?” Lance asks.

“I guess.”

“Well, don’t leave yet,” he says. “Coran told me they’re supposed to do fireworks pretty soon.”

Pidge is still talking to Hunk, and the Klulum have seemed to realize they’re having their own conversation. Keith watches them say their goodbyes and slowly pitter off before what Lance said catches up to him. He blinks. “They have fireworks?”

“Yeah,” he feels Lance bob his head in a nod. “I mean that’s not what their word for it is, but, like, Coran explained it and yeah, basically. It’s apparently, like, a pretty common thing to have? Who would’ve thought fireworks would be a universal constant.”

“That’s…kind of cool, actually.”

“Yep. Coran said they were gonna start in twenty minutes, but that was, like, fifteen minutes ago.” He nudges the ceramic bowl forward the smallest bit as he stretches his legs out in front of him, leaning forward until his fingers reach the tips of his toes. Lance is pretty flexible—he could probably touch his nose to his kneecap with only some strain if he weren’t in his paladin suit right now, Keith thinks. Then he wonders when he noticed that and why, and why he remembered it at all.

The bowl loses balance and falls, the spoon clattering out of it. Lance curses and scrambles to catch it before it rolls down the hill. Once all together, he sits back up, holding the bowl to his chest now.

“Anyway,” he says, and Keith smiles, just a bit.

It’s another few minutes until the fireworks start, exploding with a loud pop in the sky behind him. Lance cranes his head around to watch before he moves to face the show, and Keith does the same as the second firework goes off. This one is a bright yellow to contrast the natural purple-blue of the sky, and Keith notices that the chatter from the party has quieted as the show continues.

They’re ten fireworks in when Lance leans to Keith, close enough that they can talk without having to yell, and says, “That’s you.”

Keith frowns. “What?”

“That firework,” Lance nods toward the sky slightly, “it’s you. Like, if you had just one that represented you, it would be that one.”

Keith looks at the sky, but the firework Lance had been referring to has dissipated already, replaced by new ones. Another one goes off, this one bright red and sporadic, and Lance points at it. “There, that kind! That kind’s you!”

“That’s just lazy,” Keith says. “You just chose red because I’m the Red paladin.”

“You were chosen to be the Red paladin for a reason!” Lance insists. “It’s fitting!”

“All I’m saying is that it’s kind of a cop out.”

“Fine, wise guy, if you’re so good at it, why don’t you pick one out for me that _isn’t_ blue!”

Keith looks between Lance and the sky as more go off, the explosions echoing as the bursts fall and melt before they reach the ground. A challenge is a challenge. “Fine. I will.”

“Fine. _You_ see how easy it is,” he grumbles, crossing his arms and turning back to the show. Keith doesn’t respond to that, and Lance doesn’t say anything else, leaving Keith to watch the fireworks for the perfect one. He could probably just bullshit something if he really wanted to, but Keith wants to prove this to Lance, and it’s not a _real_ win if he doesn’t find the perfect one. It’s dumb and definitely shouldn’t matter, but Lance always manages to bring out Keith’s competitive side, even if the competition ends up being…just kind of silly.

The silence is nice. Partygoers are speaking in lower volumes now, their conversation too quiet for Keith to pick out individual words now, and the only real sounds are the chirps and alien hums of this planet’s insects and the fireworks as they go off. Even their ascent is silent, unlike the kind Keith’s used to.

It takes until almost the end, but Keith finds the perfect one. He points to it hurriedly, wanting to prove it to Lance before the chance evaporates. “There, that one.”

“The gold spinner?”

“Uh, yeah.” Keith didn’t know it had a name, but he assumes they’re talking about the same thing since it’s the only one that, well, spins. “That’s the one. It’s you.”

“Pssh, is not,” Lance waves it off. “I don’t see it.”

“What? No, it totally is.”

“Yeah? Why?”

Keith searches for an explanation but comes up short. There’s not one real reason he thinks it’s Lance, he guesses. It just is. Keith just knows for sure that it fits him best from the other fireworks that went off. Trying to put that into words is…hard. What he ends up saying is, “I don’t know! It just feels like you!”

It looks like Lance is going to keep pushing him for a tangible explanation, but after narrowing his eyes at Keith for a few seconds too many, he just shrugs. “Fine, fine, I’ll give you this one. I guess that’s just all I can expect from a guy who broke into a military facility based off nothing but a vague ‘feeling’.”

“Shut up,” Keith mumbles, but he’s glad that Lance isn’t asking for better reasoning.

The party ends when the fireworks do, and as they’re making their way to the rooms the Klulum provided for the paladins for the night, Lance falls back in the group until he’s walking in-step with Keith.

“Hey, about earlier,” he says.

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“I just figured, since you gave me a serious…and even though I still resent the idea that the one I gave you was a ‘cop out’—because it wasn’t—“

“Mhmm,” Keith agrees sarcastically.

“ _Anyway_ ,” he speaks over Keith, “what I’m getting at is that the one at the very end, the white ones—they’re…yours. If you want them to be.”

Keith pauses. He repeats, slowly, “If I…want them to be.”

This whole time they’ve been saying that the fireworks were “yours” or “you,” but for some reason, this phrasing—the added option of rejecting it—feels so much more like receiving a gift than it did the first time Lance “gave” him one.

It’s not a bad thing.

“Yeah,” Lance nods. “If you want them to be.”

“Sure.” And because he answered too fast, he amends, slower this time, “Yeah, those work.”

Lance smiles, reaching all the way up to his eyes and exposing how white his teeth are. It’s always an attractive look for him, beaming. If he _really_ wanted to get more dates, he could just give a genuine smile instead of that cocky, watered-down version he shoots most people, Keith thinks. Some part of him doesn’t understand why he _hasn’t_ gotten more dates. Anyone should be able to look at him and feel as warm as Keith’s face does right now, should be able to find the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the height of his cheekbones, his dimples—should find all of these things cute. Alien or not, Keith doesn’t fully get how anyone could look at Lance and not feel some pull to him.

“Cool.” Lance walks with more of a bounce in his step, his arms swinging at his sides.

Somehow, knowing that Keith’s response put that smile on his face is better than the gift itself.


End file.
